


Issues

by bennylucerne



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Villains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-14 15:50:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bennylucerne/pseuds/bennylucerne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles centered around Jonathan Crane and Edward Nygma.<br/>Crane/Nygma<br/>Complete due to the fact that I've moved on - sorry!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

#  Issues 

There is a moment, maybe just a minute, where Edward Nigma's expression is that of shock, growing horror and the slightest hint of betrayal. Of course soon the horrified expression takes over as the genius' vision blurs and when it rights itself, the man - the one man he hoped he would never have to see again is standing in front of him. Now normally in a situation like this where Edward clearly has no chance of winning, he would run, but fear holds him to the spot.  
"D-dad..." He practically whimpers, frozen as his Father advances on him.  
"I'll give you one last chance Eddie." His Father's voice is deceptively calm. "Just admit that you cheated - again and perhaps I might forget all about this." Even as he speaks he is slowly undoing his belt and pulls it loose from his trousers.  
"I-I..." Edward stammers, feeling and even sounding like a teenager again. "I-I didn't cheat..." The words are whispered, but his Father still hears them.  
The man shakes his head and closes his eyes in disappointment. "You really shouldn't lie to me, Eddie." He hisses, grabbing Edward by the front of his t-shirt and throwing him against the wall.  
The first punch disorientates him; he wasn't expecting fists, he thought he would just be whipped a few times. As the second punch splits his lip and rattles his teeth, Edward thinks that maybe- just maybe he should have lied to his Father. And then the sharp metal and leather of the belt snap across his chest and Edward just screams.  
Even though he has such a genius mind he can't remember or even believe that this isn't actually happening - that it's actually just a hallucination from the fear toxin that was so rudely stabbed into his arm. All he can focus on his the pain - _Oh god the pain, please Dad stop it hurts oh god why are you doing this I told you the truth **Please stop it hurts PLEASE STOP** _ \- and the fear and the crippling need to tell his Father that he didn't cheat and that he can be proud of his son and he doesn't have to hurt him, but all he can do is writhe in pain, choking on the screams and whimpers of pain.

There was something so perfectly satisfying about watching someone writhe around of the concrete floor, screaming in a delightful mixture of fear and pain.  
'But I must not be distracted. This is an important piece of research.' Doctor Jonathan Crane thinks as he stands to the side, observing Edward. 'Honestly though. If he had just shut the hell up when I had asked, he wouldn't be in this situation in the first place. Although, I cannot say I am displeased with the way things have turned out.'  
His attention snaps back to Edward as the screaming starts to die down and the shaking man curls up into a ball, hiding his head with his arms, still begging for his Father to stop and that he didn't lie. Realising that the effects of the new batch of fear toxin must be wearing off, Crane removes his mask, sets down on the table, grabs one of the chairs and draws it up next to the prone figure on the floor, making notes on his clipboard about the how short the delusion seemed to last. He is so immersed in his notes that he doesn't notice that Edward is now watching him until the Riddler speaks.

"You're an asshole." His voice is weak and scratchy and after he finishes speaking he dissolves into a horrible fit of coughing that leaves him clutching at his throat in agony.  
Crane merely "Hmmm"s in reply, peering at Edward over the top of his glasses. He makes a few more notes before putting his clipboard to one side. He then reaches down, shivering lightly at the thrill that is sent down his spine as Edward flinches away from the hand that grasps at his face. Crane takes a moment to observe how Edward's eye focus, then unfocus and then dart around the room, as if to make sure his Father really isn't anywhere near. "You'll be fine." With that said, Crane leans down, presses his lips to Edward's in a slow kiss. When he eventually breaks it, Crane just lets go of Edward's head (inadvertently allowing him to crumple back to the floor), stands up and heads back to the room where he has his laboratory set up to rework his new fear toxin.  
Edward manages to roll into a comfortable position on his back, staring blankly at the ceiling, desperately trying to repress the horrific memories that have been called up, even though he knows they will all come flooding back the next time Crane decides to use him as a test subject or because Edward was 'misbehaving'.


	2. The Civilian Life of Edward Nigma Part 1 & 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairings: Crane/Nigma
> 
> Warnings: Violence, murder, a tiny bit of blood/gore (but really not much) and swearing.
> 
> Tiny bit of formatting has gone on compaired to the original ff version, but other than that, enjoy~

#  The Civilian Life of Edward Nigma Part 1&2 

Edward sighed in boredom as he looked around his office. He span the black leather chair lightly so that instead of facing the elegant ivory walls, cream carpet and tasteful black furniture the Private-Detective was looking out over the metropolis that was Gotham City.   
His office certainly provided a breath-taking view; even though it was only from the 42nd floor and there were much taller buildings surrounding the one he resided in, the sprawling labyrinth of buildings were laid out like an endless scar on the Earth.

Edward Nigma didn't think he was a Romantic; he didn't find the hum of life beautiful or the stubbornness to survive of the people of Gotham City inspiring, but instead found the population to be worthless, useless wastes of space that were so stupid it was infuriating. Everything they did seemed moronic and Edward had been quite happy to spend his days proving this as the Riddler; with his fun little games and toys that any _semi-intelligent_ person should have been able to figure it out, but no, the people of Gotham were too dim and brainless and the Riddler did them a favour by ending their pointless lives.  
Evil? He thought he should be given a medal for the work he had been doing! Like the Batman weeded out the corrupt and dangerous, the Riddler had weeded out the unintelligent and obtuse.  
But of course, the mindless population saw him only as a threat and malevolent and had him sent to a hospital (Edward snorted in amusement at the thought of anyone every actually getting any better in Arkham Asylum) and when he escaped from that hospital, they sent him to another. And another. And another, until eventually, somehow, they managed to "cure" the Riddler of his evil ways.

With a sigh, Edward turned his back on the city and reached for one of the draws in his desk and pulled out various bottles full of tiny little tablets until he found the bottle he was after. His hand only shook very lightly as he dry swallowed two of the white pills, while he spilled the rest onto the dark cherry-wood desktop. Absentmindedly Edward instantly started to rearrange the pills in a certain pattern.  
He leaned back in his chair and he let his head rest on the back of the chair and his eyes close. A breathy chuckle escaped Edward as he mumbled "I don't miss it. I did the right thing in starting this business." The words rang hollow around the room and for a split second, Edward almost felt a longing for the random safe-houses he used to use, or when they were compromised, a random slum dweller's house, but then the medication kicked in and the desire to punish the unintelligent, the desire to be acknowledged as smart, and in control and the desire to _break free_ vanished along with the faint tremors that had been wracking his body.

When Edward stood up and headed towards the door he unconsciously readjusted his _normal_ suit (a white shirt and a black jacket and a black tie and black trousers and not a single hint of green) and picked up his _normal_ bowler hat (black, just black) and his _normal_ cane (wooden, painted black and not a single hidden trick to it) from the hat-stand.  
Without a glance behind him, Edward exited his office, the question-mark made of white pills left all alone.

 

Edward nodded to his sectary (a quiet woman who had, not only passed the various riddles he had set, but also apparently understood his strange compulsions) when she passed him his black-leather gloves. "The meeting with the informant is going ahead then?" She asked, her pen poised to take notes. "You said yesterday that she would most probably be dead by now."  
"Yes indeed. If he doesn't know where to find the woman then probability of her being alive is less than a 1% chance." Edward answered, some-what dismissively before he walked out, not bothering to say goodbye.

When he eventually made it down to the ground floor (why is it that elevators are either obscenely slow, or so fast you get whiplash?), Edward took a deep breath of the (polluted) city air, fixed a condescending smirk on his face and started off down the sidewalk at a brisk pace. He didn't want to be late, now did he?  
It took Edward a good half an hour to navigate his way though the dank and reeking back-alleys of this area of Gotham before he came across the shoddy street he was meant to be meeting the informant in.

A simple glance told Edward that the man was not there and Edward sighed in annoyance. The last thing he wanted to do was spend more time in the filthy back-end of nowhere and run the risk of bumping into people who had a grudge on him (and there were plenty of them…).  
The moment Edward heard the incoherent, terrified screams he froze, paralysed with shock and disbelief. Then he started to run. As fast as possible he tried to escape because those screams sounded like someone was being forced to face their worse nightmares completely against their will, they sounded like a Doctor Jonathan Crane's patients."I told you we should have waited" Joker licked his lips, but didn't take his eyes off the screaming man, who was writhing around on the floor, seemingly trying to scratch his own eyes out.  
"I thought his mind would be stronger. This is just a low dosage." Scarecrow replied almost distractedly, his head titled slightly, fascinated by the fear only this man could see. "If he broke this easily then I doubt he would have been any…fun, to question anyway."  
Both villains jumped back when the deranged man suddenly surged upright and lunged away from the hallucinations that had control, but unfortunately, this action sent the man careering straight into Edward (who apparently has no sense of direction and had managed to run toward the source, not away).

The man grabbed hold of Edward and started to claw at the detective's body, assuming the thing he was holding onto was just trying to hurt him. And, in all fairness, Edward did deliver a ferocious blow to the man's head with his cane which made the madman let go. Alas Edward was never one for doing a half-assed job, and considering the amount of blood gushing from the site of impact and the fact that the poor bugger's mental capabilities were now most likely destroyed, Edward flicked his jacket open, pulled out a simple handgun and shot the man in the head. As soon as the muzzle cooled down a bit, the gun was replaced back in it's holder and Edward stared mournfully at the snapped cane in his hands. "I only just got this one. My psychiatrist gave it to me for making such good progress."

Edward suddenly realised, with horror that if the blood got on his gloves it could destroy them, so he flung the cane covered in blood (and bits of head) away from himself, which was when he noticed the two villains staring at him.  
"Oh sodding **hell**."

Crane sighed lightly and took a good look at Edward (someone he hadn't seen in quite a while) "You would appear to be doing…well for yourself, all things considered." The contempt in his voice was not hidden in the slightest.

Edward just smirked at Crane. "I would say the same for you, but, my dear doctor, you would appear to be looking rather…ruffled. Can you not find a safe place to hide?"  
Even though Edward could not see it through the burlap mask Crane was wearing, the Doctor was scowling. "Watch your mouth detective. Your mind is even more fragile now you're pretending to be one of them." The words were said with an almost gleeful tone, but the mood was quickly killed by the Joker.  
"Now now Doctor," the Joker laughed again "we're all friends here. We should play a game~!"  
While the Joker was talking, Edward had begun to back away from the dead informant (part of his mind whispered that his client would be a bit upset to find out that his fiancé wouldn't be found, but oh well). "I'm terribly sorry gentlemen," Edward interrupted the two villains when he was a safe enough distance away "but I really must be going. Prior arrangement, dead women, probably angry clients and all that. I would say it was enchanting to see you again, but well…"  
"You're leaving?" The Joker's smile got a bit more manic "Before we can have our fun?". Edward looked back to the Joker and shuddered slightly. "No offence but I'd rather see Batman than you stay and have 'fun' with you."

The Joker laughed like Edward had told a particularly good joke, but the moment he stopped, a rather threatening carving knife was pulled from the inside of his coat. "Now that's no way to talk to your friends, Eddie-boy." And with that disturbing speed, the Joker had managed to close the distance between them quite well, until Edward calmly shot the Joker in the leg. When the psychopathic clown hit the floor, writhing in pain, Edward once again coolly aimed and shot him in the opposite foot, just to make sure.  
"Now that wasn't very nice." the Joker managed to gasp out, as he clutched at his leg with one hand and attempted to reach his foot with the other.  
Edward smirked and shook his head. "It's not a very nice city." Almost as soon as he had finished speaking, without a qualm, Edward raised the gun and aimed it steadily at Crane's head (the Scarecrow had been attempting to get close enough to send a burst of gas in Edward's face). "I don't know how thick your mask is, John, but I doubt it will stop a bullet."

For reference, Jonathan seemed to have no issues with a gun being pointed at him, but simply raised his hands in a placating manner and stepped back. "You seems to be fairly confident with a gun now. I remember once you said you didn't like them." Crane said thoughtfully.  
"I don't." Is the answer he got from Edward who looked torn between running and continuing the conversation. "I just realised that it's safer to have something that will instantly kill a person from a distance." His eyes flicked to the Joker quickly, as if assure himself the crazy clown was still sitting on the floor. "And it's a bit more legal than throwing a stick of dynamite or something." He shrugged a shoulder.

The Joker laughed suddenly, capturing the two's attention. "I thought you were meant to be reformed. A brand new person, a lawful person."  
Edward faltered and lowered the gun ever so slightly. "I'm still…" He trailed off, his eyes darted nervously between the two villains. "Sometimes I…slip up. But it's only with criminals!" He quickly tried to justify his actions (mainly to himself). "I don't make the first move. They attack first. I have every right to kill them."

Crane, being the master of the mind (conscious, subconscious, you name it) instantly picked up on this weakness. "And did your psychiatrist tell you this, Edward?"  
The averted eyes and faint tremor in the once-stable hand was answer enough. "Are you trying hard not to disappoint her?" Crane asked in a soft voice.  
"Him." Edward muttered and the gun dropped even further down.  
"He's controlling you through your desire to feel acknowledged. He rewards you with gifts like that" Crane gestured to the broken cane "to condition you into being a model citizen, is that right, Edward?"

Again, Edward didn't answer, but Crane knew exactly what to say. "You've changed a lot Edward. You're much more mature than when we last met. I think this little break from crime has done you good."  
"Stop it. Stop talking like I've only stopped for a short while. I've left that life behind. I'm not a criminal anymore." Edward nearly yelled and raised the gun back up to Crane's head.  
"Hmmm I wonder." Was the only answer he got before (yet again) he was distracted by the Joker, who was trying to stand up.  
"The floor just isn't my scene, y'know?" The clown muttered as he staggered against one of the walls. "This has been fun."  
Edward shook his head in a helpless manner. "I don't believe you two. I really don't. I have to go." Edward was mentally kicking himself. He should have just run away at the first chance. Anything was better than actually talking to these two.

Of course, Crane didn't seem to like this idea. "But Edward we've only just started to make progress. If we stop now then by the next session a lot of the progress will have degraded."  
"Oh just keep talking Jonathan. I've always wanted to know if shoot you would shut you up."  
"You would make a good partner, Edward." Crane continued on, completely ignoring Edward's threats. "You could form an alliance with the Joker and I. We could cause destruction on such a grand scale."  
The Joker just laughed his creepy and psychopathic laugh.  
"Don't you miss feeling powerful?" Crane asked, his voice soft again.  
Edward shoot his head "No; I have more control now and that means I have more power." As if to prove this, Edward readjusted his grip on the gun.

Crane sighed before he asked if he could remove his Scarecrow mask. With Edward's consent he quickly removed the burlap sack and continued on with his questions, carding a hand through his hair. "You can't be making much money in your job; too many people distrust you because of what you are."  
"Was, Crane, what I was. And I'm fine. I have enough money to live comfortably." The first part of the sentence was said in such an exasperated tone that Crane had no choice but to grin at it. "Ah, so people still don't trust you though."  
Edward laughed (it sounded almost a tad self-depreciative) "It's not like they did before. But to hell with trust. I get more respect as I am now anyway."  
"Yes, but don't you miss making people be afraid of you? Having them begging on their hands and knees to spare them and watching as they realise you wont?"  
"I'm not actually like you, Crane. I don't get off on other people's fear. And as I said, I'm respected now. That's better than fear." Even as Edward said the last sentence, he didn't believe his own words. Of course he missed everything that Crane has been saying, but he had a good life now. A stable life that was (more importantly) a lawful life.

As Crane continued to harass Edward with questions, the tiny tremors that Edward would normally quell with medication (the medication he left on his desk, he though annoyed) was getting worse until he had to lower the gun (obviously not because he was afraid that his finger was twitching bad enough to accidentally pull the trigger, of course not). The Joker, of course, was of no help at all to Crane's plan, as his comments seemed to be completely random and not much relevance until when there was a brief moment of silence (Edward and Jonathan were staring at each other with hatred and UST, at least that's what it looked like to the Joker) "Don't you miss whacking people over the head with that nifty cane of yours and it not breaking? And it used to have such nice tricks before."  
Both Edward and Crane pause at that comment because neither can remember Edward's cane ever being "nice"; the fact that it could shoot a poisonous dart, various gases (poison, sleeping, smoke) and generally held multiple explosives lead to the general impression of "not nice". Almost uncomfortably, Edward shifted, and his voice took on a wistful tone. "I do miss my cane. I can't take it out in public anymore because apparently it's not in accordance with the law…"

In that short moment where Edward was distracted (and not pointing a gun at him) Crane was his chance, darted forward, elbowed Edward in the face and tore the gun from him.  
Edward swore loudly and clutched at his bleeding nose, but despite the pain he was in he instantly backed away as he tried to put some distance between him and the now even more armed Scarecrow.  
"Now that's just not fair!" The Joker complained, as he glared at the gun. "I want one. I'm not even armed anymore!"  
Edward threw a confused glance at the Joker. "…So I suppose the knives and whatever else you have hidden away in your coat don't count then? Besides, if you can make a pencil into a weapon, I doubt you'll ever really have any trouble being 'unarmed'." The detective glanced back at Crane. "So now you have the upper-hand in pretty much every single way, what are you planning on doing? Just because you've managed to make me talk about my life doesn't mean I'm going to drop everything and join you like a little dog you can command."  
"I would be so disappointed if you did." Crane answered with a smirk on his face.

When Mr. Nigma didn't return from his meeting with the informer, his sectary wasn't too worried. Her employer often would go off for hours on end following up leads on a case.  
She shut down her computer and looked at the closed door that led to Mr. Nigma's office. "He'll be back tomorrow." She tried to convince herself. "Just like every other day, he'll be waiting for me tomorrow."  
He had always been a good employer; as long as she didn't do anything he dubbed 'moronic' she was fine. He even would talk to her about so many different things, and even though she didn't understand most of the time it was nice to just listen to him and see him so happy.  
When the sectary left the office that night, she was never able to rid herself of the feeling that something wasn't right. She never did see her employer again.

 

"Oh you cannot be serious." Edward sounded so unbelievably appalled. "Just because we've had a bit of a chat and you've now manhandled me into some stupid person's house you think you can tell me what to do?"  
The Joker patted the aforementioned stupid person's head as the hostage screamed incessantly.  
"You are taking issue with the fact that we're telling you what to do, not that we're telling you to kill him?" Jonathan sounded almost as disbelieving as Edward. "Really? How interesting…"  
"Oh my god, you people are so annoying." Edward huffed, as he rubbed a hand across his eyes (but hissed when he touched his broken nose). "Of course I'm not going to complain about killing him; if I don't then you will anyway! At least if I kill him it will be quick and relatively painless. You'd just fuck him over multiple times and the Joker would - god I don't even want to think about what he'd do to him!" Edward's voice got louder and louder to be heard over the screams of the man.  
"You just gotta shoot him." The Joker reminded Edward in such an upbeat tone Edward almost agreed. The Joker pulled the gun from the unresisting Crane and dangled it in front of Edward. "Shoot him. It'll make you feel better."  
"The hell it will!" Edward batted away the gun to little effect.

The man in question still hadn't stopped screaming (he had started when the Joker had unceremoniously burst through his front door) and that, combined with the headache and the broken nose and the tremors and the stress and the annoyance and the pain drove Edward over the edge.  
Before anyone quite realised what was going on, Edward had grabbed the gun and shot the screaming man in the face. In the startlingly loud silence that was left after the gun shot, Edward stared at the bloody mess that was once the poor-bugger's face and then at the blood staining the floor.

The Joker happily clapped Edward on the back. "Don't cha feel so much better now?"  
"Shut up." Edward muttered, his tone completely defeated. "Just please shut up."  
Jonathan bent down and prodded the body slightly. "You could have made that a lot cleaner. Still, you've gotten good with a gun."  
"Thanks." Was Edward's absent minded reply as he made it over to a chair, just in time for his legs to give out. "I just killed him because he was being too loud, didn't I?"  
"That would be a valid conclusion, yes." Jonathan answered, straightening up.  
"I don't think I'm meant to kill people for being too loud." Edward still sounded faint and not all there.  
"Generally speaking, civilians, or lawful people do not kill others for being too loud." Jonathan agreed.  
"I think I need a drink."

The Joker cackled manically before pirouetting off into the depths of the apartment.  
"You certainly are quick to kill people Edward. That was the second person tonight. Are you sure that this…civilian life suits you?" Jonathan cajoled as he sat down opposite the slightly traumatised man. "I know that your previous attempts at being criminal did not end the way you had envisioned, but you have changed a lot since then. Just imagine, you could reintroduce yourself with one hell of a riddle for Gotham if you worked with us."  
Edward continued to stare at the kitchen table, but under his breath he muttered "A Joker, a Scarecrow and a Riddler walked into a bank…"  
"You see Edward? You really should give up this farce of a life you're currently living." Crane stood suddenly and started to open the cabinet doors in the kitchen area. "And you're bleeding everywhere."

Edward laughed almost hysterically. "There's a man with no face on the floor surrounded in a litre of his own blood and you're worried about a few drops of mine on the table? Really?"  
"Your nose is still broken." Crane simply replied, finding a basic first aid kit under the kitchen sink. "I assume you would want that to be fixed."

Edward sighed, but made no move to stop Crane from tilting his head back to get a better look at the damage he had caused earlier on. "I don't know why you seem so set on me joining you two."  
"Like I've said, you've changed a lot Edward. I find this new you so much more appealing." Jonathan completely ignored the muttered "Pervert" from his patient. "If the two of us worked together we could terrorise Gotham City, but only once a few things were sorted out."  
"Wait what? Now there have to terms and conditions? What happened to just being partners in crime?"  
"And run the risk of being stabbed in the back? Honestly Edward I thought you were smarter than this."

Edward frowned, but tried not to move too much; he was in a pretty vulnerable position. "Just us two in partnership? What about - "  
"Edward you already know the answer to that. Make no mistake in thinking that just because you are on…civil terms with the Joker that he will not suddenly turn on you." Jonathan almost sounded disappointed that he even had to explain it to Edward as he cleaned most of the blood off Edward's face.  
"So what are these 'few things' you need to sort out?" Edward tried not to flinch away from the fingers that were probing at the broken nose.  
Crane laughed. "Insurance Edward. What do you fear the most?" He ruthlessly snapped the bones back into place and grinned at the muffled gasp it drew from Edward.  
"I wouldn't call that fair." The apparently-reformed detective hissed through gritted teeth. "You know my…worst fears but I don't know yours."  
"So what do you want from me?"  
"The means to find out of course. If I have…say two vials of your fear toxin…" Edward trailed off, wincing as Crane stuck the adhesive bandage over his nose to hold the bone in place.  
Crane smiled again. "Then I think we have our agreement Edward."  
Jonathan stepped back from the chair and offered a hand to Edward.  
That was when it really hit Edward. The moment he took the hand a one Dr. Jonathan Crane (aka The Scarecrow) was offering, he would be turning his back on the civilian life he had been leading. His detective work, his office, his apartment, the progress made with his psychiatrist at curing his obsessions and compulsions, all of it, gone.  
Edward almost laughed. There wasn't any question to be honest. Not even the tiny part of his mind that screamed against the horror he was willing to inflict on the innocent public could stop him. That part of his mind had only been brought to the surface by the medications and now that he was free of those drugs Edward could ignore it like before.

'No' Edward thought, as he grasped Jonathan's hand. _'The civilian life really didn't suit me.'_


	3. Edward's First Murder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Murder, a tiny bit of blood/gore, swearing.

#  Edward's First Murder 

The first time Edward killed a man, it hadn't been an accident.   
It wasn't by any means pre-meditated, but even as a teenager, Edward knew exactly what he was doing the moment he pulled the gun out of it's holder and he knew exactly what would happen when he pulled the trigger.  
That being said, he still felt a bit ill when he observed the scene of the crime; the blood was splattered _**everywhere** _ and the stupid man was still holding onto his mobile (Edward thought he might have tried to call the police, but it didn't really matter in the end).

Edward let the still-hot gun drop from his gloved hand and then he backed away until his back hit the brick-wall of the alley way. He stared at his hands; they were shaking and quickly rubbed his face with both of them as if trying to rub the scene out of his memory.  
A shaky laugh huffed out of his lips as his mind raced furiously; what should he do with the body, should it go in the sea or in a dumpster, what should he do with the gun, what should he do about the blood staining his trouser legs?  
When the last thought registered in his mind the shaken genius scrambled up from the dirty (and now bloody) floor and started to run towards the exit of the alley. Before he could reach the end he stopped, turned and sighed.  
"Well..." He took a deep breath. "Face it Edward. You've killed him now and you should make the most of it." After taking a moment to steel himself against the stench of the blood and the...slightly less than stellar condition of the man's face (head-shots are nasty), Edward went back over to the corpse.

After retrieving his gun and tucking it away safely Edward quickly removed the phone from the hand, turned it off and stuck it in his pocket (making the mental note to destroy it as soon as possible). He stepped back and looked around, double checking that there was nothing that linked him to the crime left. As he observed the grim scene he couldn't help but feel slightly guilty at how unspectacular the man's death was and that it just lacked a certain...flair.

To himself he muttered "The maker makes it but doesn't use it...The buyer buys it but doesn't need it...The one who needs it never knows it...What is it?"  
Almost as soon as he finished speaking the idea struck him and Edward smiled, the answer to what was lacking suddenly clear.

When the police found the dead man's body, they found him shot in the head, still clutching his phone. It was only after they prised the phone from his stiff fingers that they saw the message typed out in the memo box, a little riddle, left for them to puzzle over and ultimately dismiss for weeks, until another riddle was found and another and another and then someone realised that maybe just maybe, they needed to start playing The Riddler's game.


	4. Jonathan's First Murder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, back to the drabble above. ... Well, it's short.  
> IDK I was really having trouble trying to write this because the thing is, I can't imagine Jonathan actually caring that he just killed someone. The poor guy was a test-subject, and in Jonathan's feild of work, Test-Subjects often end up in the incinerator.  
> I suppose I had hoped that the end sentence implies that this is what starts him on his obession with the human mind, but whatever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Murder, mentions of animal testing (literally in passing).

Jonathan Crane never had liked other people. His fellow university students were immature and no where near intelligent enough to hold his interest; they cared more for getting drunk and having intercourse than their academic achievements.  
Jonathan was the student who was always working a year ahead of everyone else, he was the student who was never late, always handed in his work early and to a First degree standard.  
Quickly though, Jonathan realised that University was a mixed blessing; on the one hand there were no more physical beatings and the bullying he had suffered seemed to almost vanish. Instead the other students would avoid him, make casual derogatory comments, never talk to him, and for Jonathan this was perfect.  
Jonathan finished his Bio-Chemical course (with a side degree in Psychology and Sociology) with a perfect score and he quickly obtained a job working in a research laboratory.

It was just another experiment (looking into how toxins in the brain can effect mental stability) when Jonathan made a mistake. A simple miscalculation, a moment of distraction and his volunteer Test Subject Number 28 was exposed to a lethal amount of the chemical. Subject 28 died within minutes.  
Ah. Jonathan circled around the corpse with interest. This will certainly cause an anomaly in my data. His cold and calculating nature wouldn t even deign to think about feeling guilt or worry over killing a test-subject; Jonathan had already wracked up a fair body count (though admittedly it had always been animal test-subjects and never a human before). Instead, he calmly started to make notes, _Subject 28 died in 4 minutes 23 seconds of exposure, seizures occurred before death, without an autopsy the unofficial cause of death is heart-failure_.   
It took Jonathan a few hours to learn all he could from Subject 28 and when there was nothing more, he calmly loaded the corpse onto a roll along trolley and deposited the body in the incinerator.  
It had been a long day and Jonathan was tired, so he left and only paused to write a reminder to find a new test subject and to begin investigating the links between neurotoxins and the effects on the mind and body.


	5. Sleeping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mentions of blood, slight abuse, one swear word, fluff.

#  Sleeping 

When Jonathan walked into the hideout and was not only not accosted by Edward but saw the state of the main room; papers littered everywhere, cans of energy drinks crumpled around the bin and **'the Earth my final resting place, I am the torment of Man'** scrawled across one of the walls in sharpie, he felt a tiny ounce of concern.  
That s not to say it wasn t unusual for Jonathan to return to find the place in a mess as Edward tended to become so obsessed with his plans that everything else (eating, sleeping and cleaning) would take a back seat until the Riddler had seen his plan to completion. No, what was unusual was the fact that Edward wasn t anywhere to be seen.  
After Jonathan had hidden away his suitcase full of fear toxin and beloved Scarecrow mask, stripped off the blood-stained gloves and coat and left them in the pile of condemning evidence to be incinerated, he finally made his way into the back rooms where Edward would normally sleep.  
Sure enough he found the annoying genius passed out halfway to his bed in a state of half undress, hands stained black with ink that matched the dark almost bruise-like markings beneath his closed eyes.

Had Jonathan been a more caring person he might have actually done what a normal person would do and check to see if Edward was still breathing (or you know, even still alive), but as it was he simply nudged the unconscious man with all of the fervour of a vegan stabbing a cow. Edward didn t so much as twitch.  
As Jonathan stared down at the young man he considered many things; helping him onto the bed, dosing him with just enough fear toxin to give him horrific nightmares or even just kicking him awake. In the end the doctor decided to make himself a mug of coffee instead and see what the incompetent newsreaders thought was going on in Gotham.

Yet Jonathan still found his mind drifting off the story about the idiotic Bruce Wayne and back to the sleeping figure in the other room.  
Finally with a sigh he stood and went to stand over Edward again. Just to make sure the annoyance was asleep he kicked Edward in the side and when there were repercussions Jonathan went and lifted the duvet off the bed and dumped in unceremoniously on the sleeping man.  
With only his head sticking out from the mess Edward looked almost...normal and for reasons Jonathan never wanted to think about, he actually placed a pillow under Edward s head.  
Now he felt all disgustingly nice and knew that he would have to endure Edward s smug attitude when the bastard woke up, Jonathan decided it was time to go and find some pathetic homeless person and see what they feared the most.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings : Mentions of abuse, blood, (possible) murder, sadism.

If the Riddler could think straight he would be furious; insatiably angry at himself for being so weak, so trusting, so stupid enough to actually believe that the Scarecrow would just leave him be.  
As it is, Edward could just try his best to not claw his own eyes out because he knows that the person in front of him is not there, that his father is not there, that the words (" _Moron, idiot, cheater, liar, brat, mistake, useless, weedy, ignorant, moron, moron moron moron **moron** _ ") are just in his head – in his ears but not actually in the air around him.  
Curled up in the corner of his cell in Arkham, Edward wished, not for the first time, that he wasn't sharing a wall with the Scarecrow (well he wouldn't mind it so much if the guards would just gag Jonathan, but apparently it's against human rights; like those things matter to the guests of Arkham). The guards will not even look in to his cell; why would they when Edward is such a low risk inmate? He doesn't act violent, he doesn't murder the others and he doesn't even talk them to death (unlike some). No, the guards pass by, uncaring and never noticing his suffering. Though can it really be called suffering? Through the twisted and forced cathartic effect of facing his deepest and darkest (and a few irrational one too) Edward is becoming stronger. Never has he been so sure of his intellect when faced with the sight of his father. Never has he been so sure of choice of crime when faced with the abuse of the bullies. Never before has he been so able to sit alone in the dark and not worry about what will come forward.  
Yet he still bites down on his hand to muffle any cries (though the taste of the blood makes him nauseous) and he claws at his ears to muffle the voices and he screws his eyes closed to hide away from the sights inflicted from his treacherous brain. It is only after time has passed, seconds, minutes, hours, days time what time there is only the screaming of ghosts and violence of shadows and memories of abuse (or abuse of memories?) that Edward was able to uncurl from his position of half under his bed and feebly pull the blanket around his cold form.  
"How do you feel now, Edward?" The calm, soft and suave voice filtered through the cracks in the wall. Even though Scarecrow can't see Edward and though Edward hasn't always been making noises the good Doctor still seems to know when the effects of the Fear Gas has worn off and when Edward is able to speak properly again.  
" _I make you weak at the worst of all times.  
I keep you safe, I keep you fine.  
I make your hands sweat, and your heart grow cold,  
I visit the weak, but seldom the bold _ ." So what if it doesn't technically answer the question asked; all Edward cares about is the vain hope it might shut Jonathan up for a brief respite.  
No such luck, "You're getting over the effects faster now. Could this be because you are accepting what you are seeing?"  
"Could this be because I'm developing immunity from overexposure?" Edward's voice is snide; he has no reason to shy away from being nasty to the fearsome Scarecrow now.  
"Edward we are making such good progress in your sessions now. Why soon I think we'll finally have a nice little breakthrough." Jonathan's voice is light and cheery (what else was Edward expecting, the man enjoys pain and suffering and fear). "We can't stop your sessions now, oh no."  
With a shaking hand Edward pulls the thin pillow off the bed, throws it to the opposite side of the cell and rolls his way across the floor, as far as way from the connecting wall as the room allowed.  
As the silence stretches on, Jonathan becomes impatient, "You cannot ignore me Edward. Even if we have to wait until tomorrow, we will continue this."  
Silence reigned for the rest of the night.

-  
Jonathan was the first to enter the 'Congenial Activity, Recreation and Enrichment room' (or CARE room as the guards so nauseating dubbed the place), so when he stopped in the doorway and laughed, the guards instantly pulled Jonathan out of the way and rushed into the room. How he accomplished such a feat was not something Jonathan knew, but he was impressed; it was clear that Edward was not in the best of moods and now everyone will know it.  
" **Some try to hide, some try to cheat, but time will show, we always will meet.**  
Try as you might, to guess my name, I promise you'll know, when you I do claim ."  
The fact that Edward had drawn his message in blood was rather remarkable as there had been no alarms that signalled that any guards had gone missing.  
Jonathan was pulled away, still laughing and roughly manhandled back to his cell, just in time to see the guards ruthlessly dragging (a non-protesting) Edward down the corridor that leads to the solitary confinement cells.  
"I suppose the next session will have to wait Doc!" The completely dim minded guards simply think he is talking to the psychiatrist who was standing to one side observing, but Jonathan knows better.  
With a growing smile he lay on his bed. Oh yes, the next session would have to wait, but this little avoidance tactic Edward was trying to pull would only grant him so much time and it is not like Jonathan was going anywhere. Why would he, when his most interesting subject is right here too?  
"' _Some try to hide, some try to cheat, but time will show, we will always meet..._ '" Jonathan can't help but laugh again. How very fitting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are lucky that I'm updating; I'm currently sitting in a cafe in Cornwall enjoying looking at the sea. But I really want to continue updating this with the new chapters, so I have to power through these old ones!


	7. Victory or Failure?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings : Mentions of murder, violence, male/male relationship (non-graphic)

When the door slammed and the long strong of cursing progressively got worse and worse, Jonathan assumed Edward had had a bad day.  
When the Prince of Puzzles eventually stormed into the room dubbed the 'living room', it was clear he as close to snapping.  
Edward looked furious; the bags under his eyes looked like bruises, his cane was clutched in one hand and was stained with blood and bits of. His green suit was also flecked with blood, dirt and a few acid stains from the looks of things.

The good doctor Crane could see from the way Edward was holding his unoccupied hand that it was probably broken, a theory aided by the fact that the glove was split across the knuckle and the flesh beneath was visibly shredded as if he'd punched a wall.  
"Batman?" Jonathan questioned with idle curiosity from the sofa.  
"No." The word was hissed with such anger that Jonathan felt a smile rise to his face.  
"Oh?"  
"He didn't. Turn. Up." The words almost seemed to be dragged from Edward's lips, "I left him obvious clues! I practically told him were to find me and he never even came close! The hostages were so stupid; the last woman wouldn't stop crying and didn't even try to solve the puzzle!" Edward's voice had risen to a shout by the end. "I gave her the choice; die by my hand or her own stupidity and she just cried! So I beat her to death."  
"How interesting," Jonathan mused "Your plan has worked perfectly; you fooled the Batman and killed a few morons while you were at it, but you still feel like a failure." He stood and stalked towards Edward, who was still gripped by the anger and raised the cane as if to hit Jonathan. A brief flash of a syringe had Edward lowering the cane, allowing the doctor to inspect the damaged hand. Even if Jonathan didn't have fear toxin in the syringe, the numerous other drugs he mixed could do nearly as much damage.

As expected the hand was broken and Jonathan turned away to gather a splint and bandage, "You know that tomorrow everyone will hear about your actions tonight. The Batman will find out and the guilt will crush him because he will blame himself for their deaths."  
Though Jonathan's hands were moving calmly and steadily, his mind was conflicted; why was he comforting Edward instead of pushing on the cracks in Edward's mind and why was he fixing the wounds and not making them worse?  
Edward was silent as Jonathan worked and spoke and couldn't help but close his eyes and shiver at Jonathan's proximity. "I wanted him to be there. I wanted him to fail and watch them die," The words were murmured as he savoured the rare tenderness.  
"You then just have to do it again and again until he does see," Jonathan watched as Edward shivered again and smirked, knowing what the other wanted. Jonathan lent forward and bit at Edward's lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still on holiday, still drinking a hella lot. Having a blast sea kayaking and Stand-Up-Paddle-Boarding though!


	8. Oh dear...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Character Death, blood, some gore, sadness (?)
> 
> Aahahahahahahahaha wooops, just drunk don't mind me I'm drunk and this is totally unplanned and maybe I'll update this properly.  
> Till then have drunken fics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Character Death, blood, some gore, sadness (?)

He found it kind of...funny, in a way. Blood was coating not only only his hands, but almost half of his face, from where he had smeared it in an attempt to wipe it away.  
His throat burned. Coughs racked his body as his lungs started to seize, just adding to the overall pain of his existance.  
Eventually his coughs subsided and he was left to gasp breathlessly and shudders wracked his body. _' This wasn't how I saw my death'_  
Edward was lying on the cold, cold ground; the cement was frosty around him as winter had taken hold of the city with a fierce hand. There was a bullet wound low on his chest; a large wound, closer to the size of rifle, despite the fact it came from a hand-gun.  
A part of himself, Edward knew that no ordinary thugs would have that sort of weapon; that they would have had to have gotten them from someone (Penguin, Joker, anyone major really). Most of his mind, however, was just on the pain.

Edward wanted to say his eyes were watering from pain, but really he was crying. He hurt, he didn't want die here, he didn't want to die, he wanted...  
He wanted Jonathan.  
There was no way of denying that he was dying; he was alone, in the middle of the night, shot, bleeding and no one cared. Jonathan wouldn't notice Edward was gone until the next time he wanted Edward to do something; there had been an argument - screaming, throwing furniture, threats of poison. They had parted ways; it was common; their partnerships only lasted a few months (fighting, fucking, crime, knowledge, they were glorious months) normally, and they could go almost years without seeing each other.

A laugh (or possibly a sob) escaped his blood-smeared lips as he thought about how he would never see Jonathan again. 

As his eyes grew heavy and closed, he tried to remember the warmth of of Jonathan, but the cold was seeping in and nothing but the cold, freezing burn was left.

*

When Jonathan watched the news the next day, he could only watch in mute horror. It was a feeling familiar and yet so forgein. Fear and horror were so entwined in his life, but never for someone else.  
Yet watching the coverage of Edward's body being discovered was so much worse than anything he had endured at Arkham Asylum.  
 _"You could die and I wouldn't even notice. You really aren't that important Edward."_  
It had been the last thing Jonathan had said to him.  
It hadn't been true.  
Hs eyes closed against the truth, a feeling of pain in his chest.   
"I'm sorry." The words were hardly even whispered they were so soft. These were the last words he would ever say to Edward; the last time he would talk to the memory of the man. His true feelings. "I love you." They were, impossibly, quieter than the first.

When he opened his eyes, his face was set. There was a murderer on the loose, and the Batman wouldn't provide a satisfactory end to them.

No worry, the Doctor was in town, and they would need one, so very, very soon.


	9. Elephants on Acid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan takes revenge for Eddie's murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR **GORE** \- graphic detail about head-transplants. Murder. Major Character Death.
> 
> In my defence, Knightrunner asked for this. Well... close enough.

**Elephants on Acid.**

"Ah ah, hush now," A scratchy dry gloved finger was pressed up against his lips, even though it did little to stop the ugly crying. "Shh shh." The words whistled, twisted like snakes that struck his face via the proxy of a hand biting into his jaw.

Daniel Tall had no idea what he had done. He wasn't a henchman, or a gang member. He didn't owe any drug debts, protection money. He wasn't even a corrupt cop. Sure, he might hold a few mooks up for cash if they wondered into some of the darker alleys, but it was Gotham - no one wondered into dark alleyways and expected to walk out unharmed!  
For all of his normal bravado, Dan was crying. Large messy sobs, not enough air, the sort that blurred sight and burnt the eyes.

All the better for him to not see the **thing** that had a grip on his face.

"Robert White. Mmmm, yes." The voice whispered.

Daniel barely managed to cry out that his name wasn't Robert; he was Dan _oh God you have the wrong person please let me go please God_.

"In 1961, our... dear, Government let him set up a Brain Research Centre. Do you want to know what he accomplished in 1962?" The words were no longer clear, but instead muffled behind the _Click_ \- _Inhale_ \- _Click_ \- _Exhale_.

Daniel wanted to scream but the hand tightened and all he could feel was the freezing cement beneath him and the worn burlap grating against his face.

"Yes, quite right. He proved you could isolate and remove a brain while still keeping it alive. _Oooh_ he did all the hard work for me! It took him nearly a decade, but he preformed the world's first Head-transplant!"

"Why-y-y are you d-d-doing this?" Dan wailed, desperate.

The hand holding his jaw suddenly pushed; Dan went falling back, head smashing to the wall of the alley and he could see who was tormenting him. He saw and he knew he was dead, even if not knowing why.

Scarecrow knelt down next to the dazed man and continued whisper soft, "Did you know, he had to cave away the tissue of the face, until all that was left was a pretty little skull. And then he could simply lift the still-alive brain out, arteries and all."

The monstrous mask was already firmly in place and gas-mask click-whirring away. With one hand, Scarecrow kept the man's face looking at him, and he lifted the other hand. The hand that was a perversion of humanity; brown burlap blending into metal and glass as needles stretched out twice the length of normal fingers and the clear solution in the syringes was so very innocuous.

One finger-syringe tapped along Dan's forehead, "He, took, their, heads," He punctuated each word with another tap.

Scarecrow's voice suddenly turned harsh, worse than the bite of frost on the ground, "You took something last night. Didn't you?"

Dan couldn't shake his head, couldn't move because the tips were already scratching into skin.

"You, took, him." Three more taps.

"'didn't t-take no one I s-swear I'm not kidnapper -"

"My patient, Edward Nygma, won't be attending sessions anymore because of you. I do so hate it when people drop off the face of the earth without a goodbye." The syringe-fingers pierced through skin, all the way to the skull. Scarecrow continued to talk over the screams, "I dislike it when people take what is mine. You took his life, Mr. Tall. Seems fitting I take your _head_."

Without care for torn skin, Scarecrow pulled his fingers out and administered another injection straight to the heart.

"But don't worry; Dr. White's patient survived a day and a half after the successful transplant. You're in good hands. Now let's see what the Doctor can do for you."

[End] 


End file.
